The Red Neck Cycle Of Life
A few weeks back I wrote an essay on things that go yelp in the night. It was a recounting of a terrible sound that nearly froze my blood in the darkness of the night. Coyotes were on the loose. Nature was at my back door. I live in a town with a buffer of woods edging the back of my property. It is an area where deer roam and coyotes stalk the night. Snakes hide under rocks by a stream and turtles move from sun spot to sun spot. Hawks circle over head and occasionally a lake heron will fly buy surveying the gold fish and koi in my ornamental pond.
While frightening and savage there is something peaceful about knowing I coexist with the natural world so close to my door. Just beyond the flickering light of the Animal Channel on my 56 inch LCD tv is a primeval world of hunters and the hunted.
The people that populate my job are a curious mix of educated northerners transplanted here by some cosmic design and red neck Task Force officers. A Task Force officer is simply a police officer that has been detailed to the Federal Government for law enforcement purposes. These good "ol'" boys have mouths filled with tobacco and tote around their plastic Coke bottles launching streams of spit into a dense black goo. They walk with a hitch in their step and a belly full of barbecue. While their job is their profession, they live for the kill. The animal kill. Hunting dominates their lives. Their screen savers are pictures of dead deer. They profess to love nature before assassinating it. Weekends are filled with whatever is in season. One minute it is the ducks, the next the turkeys and hogs. God help the deer.
So you can imagine my horror when carrying out my daily duties I overheard a conversation reference coyotes. These were Lexington Police officers and likely connected to the same woods I was. One robust man proudly boasted of his night vision sight on his rifle and how he blew away two male "Ki-yotes" the other day. You gotta get one, he told another officer. These were likely the same creatures that passed by my house a few weeks before. What a horrific thought. Red necks prowling the forest in the night targeting coyotes with night vision sights.
When I watched the Lion King it taught me of the circle of life. Okay, it really haunted me with that damn song but it worked to remind the viewer that there is a reason the lion takes the gazelle. Suddenly the circle of life was broken or at least forever changed. Enter the southern red neck. Okay, I know this isn't a new phenomenon. I mentioned my northern prostrations to my Administrative Assistant Beth and while she was sympathetic, responded, "Hey that's my family." No matter what it is, they will kill it. They will sit in a tree for two days to grab the shot happily mounting another head on their wall. You could tell them you found Big Foot and they would stalk him into his grave just like they proudly ended the life of hogzilla. It makes one wonder how they did lose the war.
In a way I feel alien to this world and then I remember I grew up in Alaska where half the men were busy killing things as well. I have tried but I don't think I will ever understand it. I understand a need to eat reflected by Native American reverence for nature. It is a romantic intertwining of man and beast that at least is acceptable to me on an emotional and intellectual level. Of course as the tribes happily lease their land to companies that destroy and contaminate the environment I start to wonder if they have lost their way.
It just seems like having a southern red neck with a night vision rifle sight is not a natural part of the equation. How can you destroy what you profess to love? It is like beating a woman and then telling her that you love her. The excuse is always something like, "The heard needs to be culled." Sure it does because they kill off all the natural predators. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that the same breed of man sees no contradiction when it comes to Sarah Palin or the exploitation of nature for financial gain. Drill baby drill... Damn that Federal regulation! States Rights! Then one day they wake up and the forest is gone, the water is polluted and the fish are dead. They wonder why they can't kill anymore. Or maybe the just content themselves by shooting squirrels or rats that feed off the scraps.
South Carolina is the only place on earth I have found a hunting gun crazy lesbian that is a die hard Republican. I still lay awake at night trying to figure out that one. When all is said, I miss having my bones chilled by that blood curdling coyote yelp. There was something reassuring about the natural world existing so close to my own. Now all I have is Animal Planet and progressively I am not even sure it is my planet.
While frightening and savage there is something peaceful about knowing I coexist with the natural world so close to my door. Just beyond the flickering light of the Animal Channel on my 56 inch LCD tv is a primeval world of hunters and the hunted.
The people that populate my job are a curious mix of educated northerners transplanted here by some cosmic design and red neck Task Force officers. A Task Force officer is simply a police officer that has been detailed to the Federal Government for law enforcement purposes. These good "ol'" boys have mouths filled with tobacco and tote around their plastic Coke bottles launching streams of spit into a dense black goo. They walk with a hitch in their step and a belly full of barbecue. While their job is their profession, they live for the kill. The animal kill. Hunting dominates their lives. Their screen savers are pictures of dead deer. They profess to love nature before assassinating it. Weekends are filled with whatever is in season. One minute it is the ducks, the next the turkeys and hogs. God help the deer.
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| many thanks to another blog |
When I watched the Lion King it taught me of the circle of life. Okay, it really haunted me with that damn song but it worked to remind the viewer that there is a reason the lion takes the gazelle. Suddenly the circle of life was broken or at least forever changed. Enter the southern red neck. Okay, I know this isn't a new phenomenon. I mentioned my northern prostrations to my Administrative Assistant Beth and while she was sympathetic, responded, "Hey that's my family." No matter what it is, they will kill it. They will sit in a tree for two days to grab the shot happily mounting another head on their wall. You could tell them you found Big Foot and they would stalk him into his grave just like they proudly ended the life of hogzilla. It makes one wonder how they did lose the war.
In a way I feel alien to this world and then I remember I grew up in Alaska where half the men were busy killing things as well. I have tried but I don't think I will ever understand it. I understand a need to eat reflected by Native American reverence for nature. It is a romantic intertwining of man and beast that at least is acceptable to me on an emotional and intellectual level. Of course as the tribes happily lease their land to companies that destroy and contaminate the environment I start to wonder if they have lost their way.
It just seems like having a southern red neck with a night vision rifle sight is not a natural part of the equation. How can you destroy what you profess to love? It is like beating a woman and then telling her that you love her. The excuse is always something like, "The heard needs to be culled." Sure it does because they kill off all the natural predators. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that the same breed of man sees no contradiction when it comes to Sarah Palin or the exploitation of nature for financial gain. Drill baby drill... Damn that Federal regulation! States Rights! Then one day they wake up and the forest is gone, the water is polluted and the fish are dead. They wonder why they can't kill anymore. Or maybe the just content themselves by shooting squirrels or rats that feed off the scraps.
South Carolina is the only place on earth I have found a hunting gun crazy lesbian that is a die hard Republican. I still lay awake at night trying to figure out that one. When all is said, I miss having my bones chilled by that blood curdling coyote yelp. There was something reassuring about the natural world existing so close to my own. Now all I have is Animal Planet and progressively I am not even sure it is my planet.
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